Message-ID: <34854asstr$1011510604@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: vinnie_tesla@yahoo.com (Vinnie Tesla)
Subject: {ASSM} Victim/Victorian 2 {Vinnie Tesla} (f/M exhib) <*>
Date: Sun, 20 Jan 2002 02:10:04 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

[Author's note: Even more than my other work, Victim/Victorian is an
experiment and a work in progresss. Part 2 is heavily influenced by a
request from Desdmona. Though I have my own nefarious plans for poor
Corky, reader feedback will continue to shape the content and
frequency of his continuing misadventures.]

Victim/Victorian 
Part 2: Art for Art's Sake
by Vinnie Tesla

Corky dreamed he was drowning.

He was falling endlessly amid seashells and salt water, the
irresistible suction of the current, the distant cries of the
seabirds. Strange corals slowly undulated about him. He was being
swallowed up whole, he was drinking in the wine-dark fluid. He
struggled against the many-tendrilled grip of the waves, but his
frantic movements only sank him deeper in to the water's undulating
embrace.

He felt the oceans smooth, warm thighs sliding against his face, He
felt the hot mouth of the current gliding along his aching member. He
gave up all struggle. He surrendered to the ancient rhythm of the
waters, drifted down to the ocean's soft bed, and there he gave up his
last breath and died.

-------------------

He woke with a start, his heart pounding. Morning sun was streaming
in through the lace curtains of this room, this almost-familiar room.

With another jolt, as bad as his waking, it came back--the locked
door, the divan, the succubus Mrs. Dalrymple and her curious
daughters, the awful pleasure she had ruthlessly extracted from
him. And this was the room, the room he had looked at.

Without knocking, Mrs. Dalrymple strode in, carrying a tray. "Ah,
William, I see you're awake," she said brightly. "I brought you some
tea."

Corky hurriedly turned on his side, lest she notice the prominence in
his coverlet. Calm as you please, she seated herself on the bed, and
began to pour tea into one of the two floral porcelain cups on the
tray. "I trust you slept well?" she asked.

"I...what...how did I get here?" Corky stammered.

"Well, you must have been quite exhausted from your travels last
night. After you fell asleep, the girls helped me put you
to bed in your new room. Isn't it lovely? East-facing windows make a
room so cheery, don't you find?"

"I fell *asleep* in the middle of, of, of being violated!?"

Was that an actual *blush* that stole across the widow's delicate
features? "Well, when you were indulging me last night (a task for
which you show impressive aptitude, might I add), I waxed rather
enthusiastic, and was less attendant to your air supply than I might
have been."

"You asphyxiated me? With your....nether parts?"

"It seems altogether possible. On the other hand," the widow
continued, brightening substantially and stirring a lump of sugar
into her tea, "you did spend in Beatrice's hand at roughly the same
moment, so perhaps you collapsed from a surfeit of enjoyment."

She sipped her tea in silence, while Corky attempted to collect
himself. "Beatrice was delighted, of course," she continued
politely. "It was quite a copious emission for the second in a single
hour."

Once again, conversation faltered. She indicated a small plate on the
tray. "I also brought toast and jam, you'll notice, and it shan't stay
warm forever."

"So, I suppose I'm to be your prisoner now," Corky said glumly.

"Prisoner? Whatever do you mean?" Mrs. Dalrymple poured a second cup
of tea.

"Well, you can't very well let me go," said Corky, "for fear I'd
report you."

Mrs. Dalrymple handed him a teacup, which he took without
thinking. "Consider this carefully, William," she urged him. "What
would you report me *for*."

"Well, for, for, for *rape*, I suppose," the student exclaimed
uncertainly, and took a sip of his tea.

Mrs. Dalrymple nodded for him to go on.

"I'll, I'll, I'll say that you locked me in your sitting room. And
that you forced me onto your divan. Or rather, that your daughters
did. And that you, you opened my trousers, and performed an unnatural
act. On me. With your mouth!"

Mrs. Dalrymple merely nodded again.

Corky took up a piece of toast, and began buttering it morosely. "They
won't believe me, will they?"

Her eyes twinkled. "I'm afraid the local constabulary is not renowned
for their imaginative capacity."

"Then I'm free to go?"

She drained her cup, then leaned over and kissed his cheek. "William,
dear, you are not just free, you are encouraged. If you are going to
be sulking about last night's entertainment, I certainly don't want
you doing it here."

She stood and brushed off her skirts. "I believe your first class is
in half an hour, so I'd advise you to look sharp about setting
out. Here is your key to the front door. I've sent for your luggage
from the hotel, the carriage should be here momentarily. Supper is at
eight."

She paused in the doorway. "Oh, and I promised Maggie she could sit
for you this afternoon. Is six o'clock acceptable?"

He opened his mouth. Then he closed it. Whatever was happening to him
was happening terribly fast.

"Splendid! I'll see you at supper."

-----------------

Corky's day passed in a daze. He appeared on time in the appointed
studios, took notes on the appropriate lectures (later he found the
notes to contain a curious sprinkling of shocking language), but his
mind was entirely elsewhere.

After classes, he returned to Mrs. Dalrymple's house. Someone was
playing the pianoforte in the sitting room, but he tiptoed up the
central staircase, making for his room where he hoped to have some
quiet to collect his thoughts. 

He crept along the upstairs hallway, but a creaking floorboard
betrayed him, and from an adjacent room shot Maggie Dalrymple like an
arrow. Her embrace staggered him backwards as she gushed, "Mother says
you're going to paint me today! She says I'm to *sit* for you. That
sounds delightful!" 

She put out her arm to be escorted, and Corky, not knowing what else
to do, started to walk her toward his room. "Did you do any 'figure
studies' at the University today, Mr. Brandywine?"

Corky strained to remember what had happened that day. "In painting
class, we did, er, still lives."

"But you said that the model has to be still anyway."

"No, no, no! Still lives are when we paint apples, skulls, water
vases. Studies of light and shadow, you know. Development of
color-sense."

"Why that sounds dreadfully dull!" exclaimed Maggie. "Personally I
should much rather paint an unclad person! One so rarely sees those
about, whereas I see quite enough apples and vases in my day-to-day
life." She grinned flirtatiously. "Don't you think painting me shall
be much more fun than apples and skulls?"

They were standing at the door of his room now. 

"Well, I was thinking that today we would just do some charcoal
sketches. At six," Corky said, and attempted to slip into his
room. She outmaneuvered him, and in a moment uncomfortably
reminiscent of last night, shut the door behind herself with an
audible *click*. 

"Charcoal sketches?" she pouted, "Will you need me to be nude for
those?"

"Oh, goodness no!" Corky exclaimed. "We'll do some facial studies,
some, ah, some work with drapery, er, some studies of light--"

"and shadow," she finished for him. "Are you certain," she said,
leaning in close, "that it wouldn't be helpful for me to undress?"

"Oh, abso--"

"Because, I don't mind.  I mean, after all, it's for art." 

Corky tried to back away, but found that his heels were against the
foot of the bed.

She pressed his hands in hers and continued: "Some girls might be shy
about being all alone with man, completely naked," (she shivered with
delight at the forbidden word) "utterly at the mercy of his desires,
her soft bare flesh exposed to his relentless gaze, her tender white
limbs defenseless against the incursions of his fierce, marauding
hands.

"But I know that there is nothing indecent about the human body when
it
is displayed for a truly high-minded purpose. And I have perfect faith
that you are a gentleman, Mr. Brandywine." She paused and bit her full
lower lip, her freckled cheeks flushed with emotion

"I,I,I. Thank you. For your faith." said Corky. "At six, then!" he
said, with the best simulation of enthusiasm he could muster.

She reached up and kissed him on the cheek. "At six!" she cried, and
dashed out the door. 

Corky sat down heavily and mopped his brow. "What am I going to do?"
he murmured to himself desperately. His insolent pego had a suggestion
ready. However, well knowing the irreparable harm to physical health
and moral fibre that self-abuse exacts, he struggled to ignore his
rebellious organ's demands.

Just then he heard the tolling of the clock in the hallway, and with
the sixth stroke, Maggie burst once more through the door. "Are you
ready,
Mr. Brandywine?" she cried merrily, and without waiting for a reply,
went on: "I'm sure this shall be such fun. Where shall I sit?"

Corky fumbled in his portfolio for the necessary materials, and had
Maggie sit in the chair by the window, so that the afternoon light
fell across her.

"Now, how shall I sit," asked Maggie. "Like this?" She struck a
coquettish pose, head cocked, with one hand beneath her cheek. "Or
this?" She leaned her face the other way, against her clasped hands,
batting her eyelashes comically."

Corky had to laugh a little at this display. "No, no. Just sit
naturally. You'll have to hold the pose for a while.

She folded her hands in her lap demurely. "Is the lighting
sufficient, Mr. Brandywine?"

"Oh, quite adequate," he assured her, as he started to rough-in her
shapes with the charcoal.

"And the gown is suitable? I wasn't quite sure which would be most
appropriate. Mother advised me to wear one that displays my bosom to
advantage. She says it's one of my best features." She straightened
her posture, bringing the aspect under discussion to greater
prominence. 

"Please don't move, Miss Dalrymple," Corky reminded her, sketching
busily now.

"Do *you* think my bosom is attractive, Mr. Brandywine?"

"Why, er, certainly, I'm sure it is." Corky fixed his eyes on the
paper as he filled in the drapery of her skirts. 

"Wouldn't you like to see it, then?"

Corky looked up, realizing the trap she had sprung. "Why, er, there's
no need to, er, it isn't, isn't--"

"In an *artistic* capacity, of course."

"Well, er, er, why not? We could eventually do some--"

Maggie leapt from her seat, and embraced Corky, causing the charcoal
to skid calamitously across the unfinished drawing. "Oh, this shall be
such fun!" she exclaimed, pressing warm girlish kisses to Corky's
cheek. "I've never been nude in front of a gentleman before. You shall
have to act as my lady's maid."

She turned about, presenting the gentle curve of her shoulders to
him. "Unlace me if you please," she ordered.

Far from pleased, Corky brought his trembling fingers to the bows
of her gown, taking enormous care not to brush his fingers against the
pale and fragrant skin of her exposed upper back.

She shrugged the gown off so that it fell about her feet. "And now my
stays."

"Miss Dalrymple, I really don't think this is quite--"

"Oh, Mr. Brandywine, your concern for my modesty does you credit.  But
I have the utmost faith in you. I haven't the slightest fear that you
would commit any offence against my modesty. Now, do please unlace
me."

Soon the girl was released from the whalebone confinement, and she
stood clad in her loose chemise before him. Now, with ith a look of
fierce determination, she grasped the thin fabric of the chemise, and
pulled it over her head.

Corky staggered back at the sight. Her bosoms were substantial and
well-separated, a constellation of pale freckles surrounding the wide
pink areolae. Unbound, their weight strained against the taut and
youthful skin that contained them. Below, the soft white skin of her
belly curved around to her dimpled waist and downward to where her
snug drawers yet concealed the breadth of her hips.

Unceremoniously, she removed her drawers, her heavy breasts swaying
wildly as she bent down, then perched on the bed and carefully rolled
off her stockings, her movements giving frequent glimpses of the
sparsely-haired grotto between her plump thighs. Only after she had
removed every stitch and carefully folded her gown and chemise did she
turn her attention once again to the dazed art student before her. 

"Mr Brandywine," she exclaimed reproachfully, "you look positively
ready to faint! Surely you do'n't find the sight of my body so
distressing as that!"

"No, no, not at all!" Corky gasped. "I'm perfectly all right."

"Then the presence of a nude young woman doesn't make you
uncomfortable," she probed.

"Oh, certainly not!" Corky assured her, his pulse pounding in his
temples, "an artist is trained to view the, the, the human body as a
composition in line and color, not a fleshly, material object."

"And that applies equally to all parts of the body," Maggie asked
brightly, "even those traditionally considered indecent?"

"Absolutely," Corky assured her. "Now why don't we have you step back
by the--"

"So that my bosoms, for example," Maggie said, hefting them in her
palms. "would be seen by the trained artist not as the soft, warm,
yielding flesh of a ripening young creature, but as simple shapes,
like an apple or a vase."

"Er...precisely." Corky managed to gasp.

"Or my bottom," she said, turning about and giving Corky a clear view
of her backside for the first time. Her buttocks were large and plump,
with the exquisite firmness and resilience of youth. Maggie arched
her back to bring her posterior into greater prominence, and waggled
it from side to side quite indecently. "Not the firm, delicately
curved haunches of a girl on the cusp of womanhood, but a composition
in line and color, am I right?" she grinned over her shoulder.

"Yes, yes, certainly!"

She turned to face him again. "But surely there are parts of the body
which even the most high-minded and modern artist considers indecent
and obscene," she objected.

Had Corky had his wits about him, he would have immediately agreed
with the girl. Where there room in his head at that moment for words
and ideas, rather than overwhelming images of firm and yielding
feminine flesh, he would not have made so foolish an error. So perhaps
we can forgive him for having instead replied, "Why, whatever do you
mean?"

Maggie clambered up onto the bed beside him, and turned herself about
so that her rosy bottom was a mere foot away from his face, her plump
little toes resting against his trembling thigh. With one hand, she
pulled aside one of her fleshy bottom-cheeks, exposing the delicate
trail of fine hair that ran between, punctuated at its base by an
elegant pink bud.

"Well, my bottom-hole, for example," she said. "Here is a part one
doesn't see portrayed in painting or sculpture. Even the greatest of
artists consider it a part too vulgar to depict." She watched over
her shoulder as he gazed enraptured at her secret parts,

"Exquisite," he murmured, beyond pretense.

"You're very kind," she grinned, flipping over, so that she sat facing
him. "But what of my cunny?" She spread her legs, and stroked the thin
brownish hair between her taut thighs. "Surely here is a part that is
irreducibly fleshy and material. The plump, blushing lips," she
stroked her labia, then parted them slightly with her thumbs. "The
tender, shining interior, the modestly hooded little clitoris. All
these parts, so clearly meant not just to be seen, but to be touched,
smelled, and tasted." As she soliloquized, her fingertips were
rotating at the apex of her glistening little orifice, her hips
undulating in exquisite counterpoint. "Can that experience really be
reduced to pigments on canvas, Mr. Brandywine?"

Not a sound escaped Corky's parted lips. The charcoal fell from his
senseless fingers to the floor, but neither of them noticed.

Now two tapered little fingers found the way to the base of Maggie's
tender orifice, and slowly pressed inside. With exquisite slow care,
they disappeared in to the ripening girl. Then, at the same moment,
Maggie's knuckles came to rest against her plump mons as her fingers
were swallowed entirely within her sex, and Corky gave forth a
strangled groan and twitched several times, as a dark stain began to
spread across the front of his trousers.

At once Maggie leapt up and embraced the mortified draughtsman. "Oh,
Mr. Brandywine, I'm terribly sorry! It's my fault--I've been awfully
cruel, teasing you so! Here, let me help."

And before Corky could utter a word of protest, he was recumbent upon
the bed, his trousers were about his knees, and Maggie was dabbing at
his deflating groin with a damp washcloth (where the blazes did that
come from?). "I do hope you're not too angry at me," Maggie said,
scrubbing away at the clumps of semen nested in Corky's pubic hair. "I
do hope I can make it up to you somehow."

"Really, Maggie," Corky said, "it's not, I mean you really needn't--"

"I think it's almost all up," Maggie interrupted him. "Those trousers
will definitely need to be laundered, though." She deftly slipped his
boots off him, and was tugging at clothes before he could compose a
suitable protest.  Before he knew it, he was bare from the waist down,
and the nude girl was diving between his limbs to scrutinize the
results of her efforts. "Legs seem clean," she noted, running her cool
little hands over his inner thighs. "Your cods are cleaned-up" as she
stroked his scrotum with her fingertips. The skin tightened under her
touch as his tender gonads sought shelter. "Ooh, but a little shy!"
she grinned.

Now she took his rapidly-stiffening prick in her hand, and squeezed it
firmly. "And your poor cock appears almost recovered," she noted. "I
think to get it any cleaner, I'd have to use my tongue.

"Ooh! The naughty thing quite jumped at that notion. Or perhaps it
would prefer to get better acquainted with my bubbies..." and she
pressed her soft breasts against Corky's tender prick and undulated
her torso until waves of gentle friction made him groan.

Then she leapt up spryly and straddled his waist so that her soft
bottom was resting on his bare thighs, his ardent prick nestled in her
curly motte. She ran her hands through his hair, and pulled his head
back so that his eyes met hers. "But I think I'm going to fuck you
instead, Mr. Brandywine."

And she brought her hand to his cock, and lowered her hips upon it,
engulfing him in fluid heat. 

Corky brought his arms (still clad in his morning-coat) around her
waist and held her in his convulsive grasp as she gyrated her hips
upon him, her breasts swaying violently with her ardent motions, her
hot breath tickling his ear.

She brought one breast to Corky's mouth and begged, "Suck my breast,
William."

He fastened his mouth to the pale nipple and groaned against her
pounding body. His hands found her broad hips and urged her to
accelerate her motions.

"Arrre! William, such pleasure!" the girl cried as their joint crisis
approached. "Hold my bottom tightly!"

Corky's head fell back and his teeth gritted as he began to pound his
hips upward into the shuddering girl. His fingers dug into Maggie's
hips and she wailed long and low as he grunted, and with several final
violent thrusts, spent into the clutching interior of his adolescent
seductress.

It was at that moment that the door burst open and, with eyes blazing,
Mrs. Dalrymple stalked into the room. "Margaret Dalrymple," she
demanded, "just what do you think you are doing to that poor young
man!"

END Part 2


--
-Vinnie
vinnie_tesla@yahoo.com
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/vinnie_tesla/www/
We calculating engines care not a fig for calves or thighs.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com> |
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html>  Moderator: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|Archive: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org> Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository |
|<http://www.asstr-mirror.org>, an entity supported entirely by donations.         |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+